


Keep it Precious

by Arbryna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Goodbyes, Nostalgia, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how deep you pack them away, there are some memories that stay with you always. (Or: Isabela grudgingly admits that being sentimental isn't <i>always</i> a bad thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep it Precious

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the wonderful art piece (shown below) by [MiliaT](http://miliat.tumblr.com/). Written for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2013.

The moon is full tonight, shining a thick milky stripe of light over the water stretching all the way to the horizon, broken only by the bridge spanning the mouth of the Rialto Bay. The air is chill, but there's an undercurrent of warmth owed to the hotter climate of Antiva. From where the ship sits anchored at the docks, Antiva City can be seen rising up in staggered tiers, crowned at the very top by the royal palace. 

Not that Isabela is looking. She's spent enough time in this city to know it by heart, and her business here is finished anyhow. The crew offloaded the last of the cargo—well, all right, _plunder_ , but most places frown on that word—this afternoon, and now they're enjoying a well-earned night ashore, drinking and whoring to their sweet little hearts' content. Isabela could have gone with them, but she much prefers to stay on board with the skeleton crew. 

She's made it a point to spend as little time as possible on land, ever since Kirkwall. Sure, there were a few good things to come out of her time there—this ship, for one—but just the memory of spending _years_ without the gentle roll of a deck beneath her feet, the salt spray settling on her skin, the snap of sails billowing in the freshest air she's ever breathed—well, it's enough to give a girl a complex. 

Isabela was always meant to be at sea. In the years since she fled Kirkwall with Hawke and her motley band of misfits in tow, she's slept better than ever before—and not just because she doesn't have to worry about Castillon riding her arse. There's something soothing about being rocked to sleep by the waves that makes it easier to ignore the odd lump in a mattress. 

Of course, there's no ignoring the chest plopped down in the middle of it. She almost forgot that they found it, buried behind piles of crates in the hold. She doesn't need to open it to know what's inside; she saw the thing sitting in Hawke's bedroom in Kirkwall often enough. It's the one thing they managed to sneak out with before the templars locked the whole bloody city down. 

It seems like a lifetime ago, even though it's only been a few years. Balls, she's getting _old_.

Even though she knows what's inside, and she'd really rather shove the thing into a corner so she could lie down and sodding _relax_ already, Isabela finds herself with a curious urge to open it up and sift through its contents. 

It's Hawke's damned influence. She was never anything remotely resembling sentimental—particularly involving _things_ , which one could always replace, really, and usually with something prettier and shinier. Then Hawke and her bloody feelings came along, tramping all over the perfectly serviceable walls she'd built up for herself and molding her into a kinder, gentler Isabela—although she'll still gut you in a second if you say a word about it.

Well, it wasn't all bad, at least. The sex was fabulous. 

With an aggrieved sigh, Isabela sinks down onto the edge of her bed, tugging the chest closer to her. The latch has spotted with rust in places where the gold plating has flaked off, but it's still functional enough. Keeps prying eyes out, at least; it's no match for Isabela's skill with a set of lockpicks. She's sure the key is around here somewhere, but why bother?

The hinges creak as she lifts the lid up. Inside is an eccentric assortment of items, from a bundle of dried flowers to bits of jewelry to a copy of that blighted manifesto Anders was always forcing on people. It's all that's left now of her time in Kirkwall, of the people she'd come to view as a sort of family—not that she's ever been an expert on what _that_ means. 

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she runs her fingers idly over a small bottle with a ship inside; it turns into a smirk when she moves on to an all-too-familiar bit of copper. She takes it out of the chest, traces the outline of petals with a fingertip.

***

"Where is that man?" Aveline grumbled, keeping a watchful eye on all the courtyard's entrances.

"Getting your panties in a twist won't make him go any faster," Isabela remarked with her trademark smirk. "Men always love to take their bloody time, except when you actually want them to." 

Hawke was inside her estate, checking to make sure everyone got out all right. They'd seen Sandal back in the Gallows, but time had passed since then and silly Hawke would never be able to live with herself if something happened to either of the dwarves that had served her so faithfully for all these years. That's what Hawke had claimed, anyhow; Isabela was sure she'd just remembered some trinket she couldn't bear to leave to the looters. Hawke was sentimental that way. 

"There he is," Aveline said, exasperated, as Donnic finally descended the steps from the Viscount's Keep with a bundle in his hands. It was bulky and oddly shaped, and Isabela wondered what kind of supplies he could have thought were so important he just _had_ to send Hawke away with them. 

Before Aveline could start in on the nagging wife routine, the front door to Hawke's estate creaked open. The mabari shot out first, standing guard a few paces into the courtyard. His stance was rigid and wary, poised to take action at the slightest hint of something going wrong. As much as Isabela had never been much of an animal person—unless you count some of the men she'd gone a round or two with, and it really was a tough distinction—she had to admit this particular dog was pretty useful to have around.

Hawke came out next, lugging the storage trunk from her bedroom while Orana followed meekly behind. "No sign of Bodahn or Sandal," she said, setting down the trunk so she could close and lock the door. Fat lot of use that would do, but it was far more efficient to let her than to argue the futility of it. "They must have gotten out of town during the battle."

"Smart of them," Isabela commented, pushing off of the stone pillar she was leaning against. She raised her eyebrow, giving Hawke a pointed look. "We should follow their example."

A crooked little smirk tugged at Hawke's lips, and she leaned down to pick up the chest again. "Lead the way, Captain."

~

The docks were in chaos, full of people scrambling to escape the disaster by shoving their way onto whatever ship would have them. Isabela was glad she'd managed to find the crew she had—the two burly sailors standing guard at the end of the gangplank were a splendid deterrent to desperate souls that might try to force their way onto her ship. Well, the dwarf perched on the rails idly caressing the trigger of his crossbow probably helped with that as well.

Of course, even those measures would only hold out for so long. They really should have been on the open sea already, but Isabela couldn't bring herself to rush Hawke in her goodbyes. Hawke would pout, and Isabela hated it when Hawke pouted; it usually meant she wasn't going to get sex any time soon. 

"I wish you were coming with us," Hawke murmured, holding tight to her little sister.

Well, "little" was hardly appropriate anymore; Bethany had grown into quite the capable woman. Gone was the cheerful, naive girl Isabela had met—and taken so much joy in attempting to corrupt—so many years ago. There was a shadow in those chocolate-brown eyes now, an edge that emphasized the hard lines that had begun etching themselves into her face. 

"I shouldn't even be here now," Bethany said, pulling back to give her sister a wry smirk. "But someone had to keep you out of trouble." 

"Nice to have help for once," Aveline grumbled good-naturedly. She gestured toward Isabela. "Instead of this one just making it worse." 

"Hey," Isabela protested. "Even you can't blame this one on me, Big Girl."

"No, you're right about that." Aveline almost sounded disappointed. "We all know who to blame for this mess." 

"That would be me." 

Hawke's hands clenched into fists as Bethany stepped aside, making room for Anders to approach. "What are you doing here?" Hawke asked icily. "Don't you have something else to blow up?"

Anders sighed. "I know you don't approve of my methods. It may not seem like it now, but this is a good thing."

"You've started a war, Anders," Hawke shot back. "Killed Maker knows how many people— _innocent_ people. You'd have to be a lunatic to see that as a good thing." 

"That's not too far off," Isabela muttered to herself. She was all for live and let live, but she failed to see how blowing people up fit into that equation. 

"One day you'll understand why I had to do it," Anders said. His voice had that same calm determination in it that was there when Hawke was deciding his fate. "But I'm not here to argue. I wanted to thank you. You were a good friend to me, even when I made it difficult. You spared my life when you had every right to take it. I owed you a proper goodbye."

"Consider that debt paid, then." Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. "You'd better leave before Sebastian gets back with his army." 

An awkward silence fell over their little group as Anders disappeared into the crowd. Finally Bethany cleared her throat, moving to face her sister once more. "The Wardens are waiting for me," she said reluctantly. "Take care of yourself, Sister."

"I'm not the one going up against hordes of darkspawn," Hawke cracked.

Bethany smiled. "No, just the entire Chantry. Funny how things turn out, isn't it? I always thought I'd be the one constantly on the run from templars. Now I could do blood magic right in front of them and they couldn't do a thing about it." 

"I wouldn't recommend it," Isabela advised. "Don't want to stain those lovely robes. They suit you rather nicely." 

A faint blush colored Bethany's cheeks. "Well, it's no match for your…unique sense of style," she said with a smirk, "but I'm not sure anyone but you could pull that off." 

"Nonsense. I'm sure you'd look fantastic with no pants." Isabela waggled her eyebrows, then sobered a little. She pulled Bethany into a quick hug. "You take care, Sweetness. I'll write when I can."

"I'll look forward to it," Bethany said boldly as she pulled away. "I'm running out of new ideas to try out." 

"Ooh, baby sister is all grown up," Isabela drawled approvingly.

"I don't need to hear this," Hawke said, holding her hands over her ears dramatically. 

Bethany just laughed and gave Hawke's shoulder a playful shove. "Goodbye," she said, a fond smile on her lips. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." 

After giving Aveline and Donnic each a quick hug, Bethany was gone. Their numbers were dwindling rapidly, and now there were only two goodbyes left before they set sail. 

"Hawke," Donnic said, fidgeting with the bundle in his hands. "Can I speak to you for a moment…in private?" 

Looking around, Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You can try," she replied, gesturing to the crush of people all around them. 

As Donnic cut a path through the crowd to a little alcove nearby, Aveline watched them go with narrowed eyes. Isabela nudged her shoulder. "You're really not coming with us, Big Girl?" 

"Don't sound so sad about it," Aveline said, rolling her eyes. "Civil war is child's play compared to trying to keep you out of trouble." 

"Admit it," Isabela prodded. "You're going to miss me."

Taking a moment to consider it, Aveline finally shrugged. "Maybe a little." 

"Well I won't miss you," Isabela replied breezily, leaning back against a pile of crates. "I can get arrested and called a slattern just about anywhere in Thedas." 

Aveline snorted and shoved Isabela sideways, nearly disrupting her balance. Isabela was just recovering her casual pose when Donnic and Hawke returned, this time with Hawke carrying the bundle. 

"This is it then," Hawke said with a sigh, glancing back at the city slowly burning behind her. "I don't envy you your job, Aveline." 

"Don't worry about me, Hawke," Aveline replied with a smirk. "Without you two here to cause trouble every five minutes, I'll have this city cleaned up in no time." 

Hawke chuckled. "Well, I'm glad we can help in our own little way," she said, drawing Aveline into a hug. "I'll miss you." 

"I'll try to keep the scavengers out of your estate," Aveline promised, returning the embrace with surprising ferocity given her usual reserved demeanor.

When Hawke pulled away to move on to Donnic, Isabela opened her arms to Aveline, waggling her eyebrows. Aveline's eyebrows shot up. "Maker only knows what diseases I'd catch if I let you anywhere near me." 

Isabela scoffed. "You let Hawke hug you," she pointed out. "And you know where she's been. If you were going to catch anything, Big Girl, you'd already have it." 

"Fine," Aveline grumbled, grudgingly slipping her arms around Isabela's waist. Despite her protests, she held on longer than strictly necessary, until Isabela's hand drifted down to squeeze her arse. She jerked away, glaring at Isabela's grinning face.

"Don't let her get her way all the time," Hawke finished saying to Donnic as she pulled out of his arms. "She'll be insufferable." 

Donnic smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Goodbye Hawke," Aveline said, taking her place at Donnic's side. "Watch yourself out there." 

And then they were gone. Isabela slid an arm around Hawke's waist, leading her up the gangplank and onto the ship. "So what did Donnic give you?" she asked as they stepped onto the deck. 

Hawke chuckled and passed the bundle over. Isabela unwrapped it to find a copper relief of marigolds, packed with rags to make the bundle unrecognizable. She couldn't help but laugh.

"He begged me to take it," Hawke explained. "You know, as a keepsake. Something to remember them by."

"Right," Isabela said, still laughing. "I'm sure that's all it was."

***

It's been ages since Isabela has seen Aveline. She should check in on the old girl some time, make sure she's not too bored without Isabela around to stir things up once in a while. And fine, maybe she misses her a little. Bethany, too. Balls—whatever happened to not getting attached to people?

With a sigh, Isabela sets the copper sculpture back in the chest and continues to sift through the rest of the contents. There's the ring Bethany gave Hawke back during the Qunari mess, a silver band with twin griffons etched into it; a wicked curved dagger from that encounter with Zevran (now _that_ had been a fun afternoon); a small pendant with the Amell sigil on it, strung on a strip of leather with the key to Hawke's estate. 

She laughs softly when she pulls out an envelope, addressed in a scrawling, unsteady hand. Fenris has worked on his penmanship over the years, but Isabela's fairly certain she's the only one he ever writes to, and this particular letter is a couple of years old.

***

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Isabela asked, taking a long swallow of ale to wash down the last bite of stew.

"Oh, it's not you, Isabela," Merrill said hurriedly. "I adore you, and Hawke, and Varric, and the crew…and Fenris is all right sometimes, when he's not yelling at me." She glanced nervously across the table at Fenris, who scowled in response. "I just don't think I'm quite cut out for sailing."

Hawke smiled sympathetically at Merrill. "If you want to return to land, Merrill, of course we'll take you anywhere you'd like to go. But Tevinter? That doesn't seem like the best idea."

"Not actually Tevinter," Merrill argued. "Even they haven't ventured very far into the Arlathan Forest. I couldn't get the Eluvian to work, but maybe I can still help reclaim my people's heritage."

With a sigh, Varric pushed his empty plate away, narrowing his eyes in concern. "Are you sure, Daisy? There's a reason people stay out of there—who knows what nasty critters are lurking in that place?" 

Merrill smiled. "I appreciate your concern, Varric, but I'm not helpless. I grew up in forests; it won't be nearly as difficult as trying to find my way around Kirkwall." 

Isabela slung an arm around Merrill's shoulders, pulling her close to drop a kiss into her hair. "Well, Kitten, if that's what you want, we'll get you as close as we can." 

"Thank you, Isabela," Merrill said, resting her head on Isabela's shoulder. 

Fenris cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. "Perhaps this is not the best time," he said, "but I have been thinking it is time for me to move on as well." 

"Andraste's tits," Varric said, shaking his head. "They're dropping like flies."

~

Isabela was surprised Treviso still had a port for her to dock at. The smell of burnt wood and scorched earth had lingered around the city for centuries; she'd half-expected to find a pile of smoldering rubble, with how often the bloody place burned to the ground.

They couldn't very well drop an elven blood mage off in Qarinus—Merrill would end up enslaved or killed before she could even get out of the city. That left this as the closest port; a week's travel across the Drylands would put Merrill at the south-east edge of the Arlathan Forest.

Unfortunately, since sailing through the Northern Passage was out of the question—Isabela wasn't keen on crossing through the direct path of Qunari dreadnoughts—Treviso was also the closest Fenris was going to get to Tevinter. 

"I still don't understand why you'd want to go back there," Isabela said. "You always get so scowly when you talk about it." 

"It is not Tevinter I wish to revisit," Fenris replied. "I have considered what Hawke has said about my sister, and there is value in it. She is…my only family. If nothing else, perhaps she can help me remember some of my past."

Isabela sighed. "You and Merrill are more alike than you think," she said, smirking at the way Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Pining away about the past. Waste of energy, if you ask me. How will you ever enjoy the present?" 

"A present with you, Isabela, is always enjoyable," Fenris said, cracking a small smile. "But I feel I must make peace with my past in order to move forward. I cannot do that if my past remains a mystery to me."

"If you say so." Isabela remained skeptical; her own past had made her what she was, but she couldn't imagine ever wanting to revisit it. It was in the past, and it could stay there for all she cared. "Now, you promise you're not going to practice your magical fisting thing on Merrill? I know she's not your first choice of traveling companion, but I've rather taken a liking to her. I wouldn't like to hear about her being hurt." 

Fenris scowled. "We are traveling in roughly the same direction. That does not mean we are traveling together." When Isabela raised an eyebrow, still waiting for an answer, he sighed. "I will do my best to avoid causing her physical harm."

"Good." Isabela smiled. "Now come here, you. Just because you've got all that spiky armor on doesn't mean you can get out of giving me a hug goodbye." 

After a few moments, Isabela released Fenris from her embrace. As soon as he moved on to Hawke and Varric, Merrill flung her arms around Isabela's neck. "Oh, Isabela. I'll miss you terribly."

"I'll miss you too, Kitten," Isabela replied, wrapping her arms tight around Merrill's waist. "You keep your wits about you out there. Varric won't be around to bribe your way out of trouble." 

Tears glittered in Merrill's eyes as she pulled away. "I'll be careful, I promise." She sniffled as she reached into her bag, pulling out a small bundle of dried flowers. "I want you to have this," she said. "Being at sea all the time, you hardly get to see any flowers, so I've been collecting them at every place we've visited, as a reminder of home." 

"You should keep it, then." Isabela pushed the bundle back toward Merrill. "You're an awful lot farther from home than you were before." 

"Oh, but I don't need them anymore," Merrill said brightly. "There will be plenty of fresh flowers in the forest. You're the one who won't get to see them often enough." 

Laughing fondly, Isabela accepted the bouquet. "I'll keep them for you. You can have them back next time I see you." 

Merrill smiled as her eyes welled up again. "That sounds nice." 

"Don't cry, Kitten," Isabela said, reaching out to wipe away a tear that had escaped down Merrill's cheek. "You know how I am with all that emotional stuff." 

"I'm sorry." Merrill sniffled again. "I'm just going to miss you all so much. Oh, I already said that, didn't I?"

"It's all right, Daisy," Varric chimed in, his voice suspiciously thick. Bloody sentimental dwarf. "We're going to miss you too." 

Merrill threw her arms around Varric and Hawke in turn, lingering until Isabela pointed out that Fenris was already setting off away from the dock. For all of Fenris' protests that they weren't traveling together, he stopped and waited when he saw Merrill scurrying to catch up with him. 

"I'm tempted to go along," Varric cracked. "Those two together, with no one there to mediate? That's going to be quite the story." 

Isabela chuckled absently, watching as Merrill bounced alongside Fenris. There must have still been smoke in the air, she decided; her eyes were watering up like mad.

***

The flowers are still intact, brittle and faded as they are. Isabela hasn't seen Merrill since Treviso; she wonders how she fared. It's been a couple of years—is she still wandering the Arlathan Forest, or has she found what she was looking for?

Oh, well. No point in dwelling on it. For all her sweetness, Merrill was a formidable mage; Isabela's sure she could have taken care of herself, no matter what nasty creatures she might have come across in that long-forgotten forest. 

Fenris, at least, was able to write to her. She collected a letter from him earlier today; it was waiting with one of her contacts in Antiva City. He's settled down—as much as he ever will—in Starkhaven, working with Sebastian's army. He wrote her a couple of years back, telling her how he'd found his sister again. Varania was still dead-set on becoming a magister, and he came to accept what Isabela tried to tell him so many times—the past is best left where it is. 

That doesn't explain why Isabela is stuck in this fit of nostalgia. She should never have opened this blighted chest, but now that she has, she can't seem to stop herself from remembering. 

As she drops the letter back into the chest, Isabela's fingers brush against the feathered shaft of a quill. She pulls it out, testing the tip with her thumb; still sharp. She never could bring herself to actually use it.

***

"Varric, this is your best quill," Isabela said, frowning. The Pearl was quiet that day, perfect for sharing a last drink with a friend.

"I've got more," Varric replied with a shrug. "You can use it for your friend-fiction. I expect plenty of stories next time I see you." 

Shaking her head, Isabela took the quill, holding it gingerly in her hands.

"Andraste's tits, Rivaini," Varric laughed. "I'm a dwarf. We're not known for our delicacy. Believe me, that thing can take a lot of abuse." 

"It's a lovely gift, Varric," Hawke chimed in, slipping her arm around Isabela's waist. "I'm sure Isabela appreciates it." 

"Don't be polite _for_ me, Hawke." Isabela gave Hawke's arm a little smack. "It's almost as bad as me doing it myself." 

Varric chuckled. "You're welcome," he said, eyeing Isabela pointedly. "I would have given you a lock of my chest hair, but I didn't want to put you through the humiliation of swooning in public." 

"You're so thoughtful," Isabela said, narrowing her eyes. "How _is_ it you're still single?"

"As opposed to being tied down like you?" Varric shot back with a grin. He reached back and patted the stock of his crossbow. "I've got Bianca. That's all I need." 

"Are you sure you're okay making it back to Kirkwall on your own?" Hawke asked. "I know it's been more than a year, but I still don't think it's a good idea to show my face there." 

"I'll be fine," Varric assured. "Maybe I'll pick up some stories about the Hero of Ferelden while I'm here. I'm just glad to have solid ground under my feet again. Dwarves are _not_ built for sailing."

~

That evening, Isabela found Hawke sitting cross-legged on the bed in her—well, all right, _their_ —cabin, idly sifting through the chest she'd rescued from her estate. It had been repurposed since their departure from Kirkwall, and now it held all of the little mementos they'd collected over the past year or so.

"You're not getting all weepy on me, are you?" Isabela cracked, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. 

Hawke looked up, a sad smile touching her lips. "Just thinking," she said. "Remembering." 

"I can think of a lot more fun things you could be doing." Isabela smirked, her hips swaying as she sauntered over to the bed. "I'd be glad to offer suggestions." 

A watery chuckle made it past Hawke's lips, but it was going to take more than that for her to let this go. "Varric was the last, you know? Everyone's gone now." 

"Not _everyone_ ," Isabela scoffed, settling down onto the bed next to Hawke. "Orana's still around, and she's a fantastic ship's cook. And…" She looked down at the bedspread; it was still so bloody difficult to talk about this stuff. "…and you've still got me." 

That prompted a genuine smile, Hawke's eyes glittering with warmth and tears all at once. She reached out to cup Isabela's cheek, and Isabela didn't bother resisting the urge to lean into it. Some battles weren't meant to be won. "I'm glad," Hawke said, sliding her hand back to the back of Isabela's neck. She leaned in, resting her forehead against Isabela's. "I'm so glad to have you in my life." 

Isabela's throat swelled up too much for her to speak, so she closed the distance between their lips instead, putting how she felt into something more easy to communicate than words. No matter how much time she spent with Hawke, she always felt somehow inadequate when it came to talking about feelings. Balls, she was still amazed Hawke put up with her; _she_ was the lucky one.

***

So many goodbyes. Before Kirkwall, Isabela never gave much thought to them—never got close enough to anyone to care whether she ever saw them again. Then she went and spent close to a bloody decade with Hawke and her friends. She supposes it's natural she'd miss the blighters.

There's one thing she hasn't looked at yet: a small, folded note pinned to the inside of the chest's lid. She pulls it down, scowling at her trembling fingers as she opens it up. Hawke's familiar handwriting covers most of the page.

 

_Isabela,_

_I know you think they're just things, and that I shouldn't get sentimental over them. I thought perhaps if I explained it in a letter—so you couldn't argue with me over every other word—you might be able to understand._

_We never had very much stuff growing up. We were always on the run, trying to keep Father and Bethany away from the templars. Whatever we did have got left behind in Lothering when we fled the Blight. I never cared about the money, about having the nicest armor or the sharpest blades. What I miss is the memories. I miss the doll Father helped me make for Bethany, out of an old burlap sack and some straw. I miss Mother's old fry pan, with the dent in it from when I smacked Carver over the head when we were children. They're silly things, not worth much, but to me they're pieces of my life that I'll never get back._

_Kirkwall was never very kind to either of us. There's a lot I'd like to forget about my time there, and I'm sure you can think of plenty you'd rather not remember. But there were good things, too—and those are the things I want to remember. Those nights with all of us drinking and playing cards at the Hanged Man, the adventures we got into when the city wasn't going to pieces around us…they're worth preserving._

_So instead of thinking of this as a useless chest filled with useless things, think of it as a collection of memories. I want you to have a past that's worth remembering._

 

Hawke's scrawling signature fills up the bottom of the page, finished off with a little hand-drawn heart—likely done just to get under Isabela's skin. Such a sodding romantic. Isabela's fingertip idly traces the swirling letters, and she feels an ache in her chest that's become familiar by now. 

"Getting all nostalgic about the past, are we?"

Isabela looks up, narrowing her eyes at the newcomer. "It's your damned influence, Hawke."

Hawke grins. "Well, it's only fair. You've influenced me plenty." A naughty glint flashes in her sea-blue eyes as she swaggers toward the bed. "Care to see how much?" 

It's all the convincing Isabela needs. More, really; she hardly ever _needs_ convincing. Tossing Hawke's letter into the chest, she slams the lid shut and drops the whole thing onto the ground, making room on the bed for more enjoyable activities.


End file.
